


collocate

by rosecaptain



Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-06-03 08:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19460473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosecaptain/pseuds/rosecaptain
Summary: phobos and meouch contemplate their star-crossed feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> these are mostly just drabbles of sorts but they seemed to be vaguely forming some sort of linear story sOO we'll just see where it goes

Meouch was always anywhere except _here_. He's like his ship: constantly moving, gliding freely through the infinite stream of stars without anything to anchor him down, his sentiments and faults in every planet left behind. Such was his life as a space pirate. Freedom was what Meouch valued most. Wherever he was, he was always moving and never _here_.  
  
So then why is he here? Playing the bass guitar next to the man whose home planet he destroyed, along with two other people with similarly unfortunate backgrounds at a local bar on a 2 am Tuesday?  
  
The answer to this oddly complicated question was rather simple. And that was the way Meouch liked to think about things: simple, surface level, never complex. In fact, the answer could be simplified down to just one word. _Phobos_.  
  
Meouch’s train of thought stops abruptly, the absence of music in his ears telling him that something had changed in his environment. Their song just ended. The momentary silence of the room is quickly replaced with mellow applause and cheering from their tipsy crowd. Meouch blinks out of his daze.  
  
“You okay?” Sung mouthed at him from the center of the stage. He looked concerned.  
  
"Yeah, 'm fine," Meouch nodded, waving a hand.  
  
He glanced at the other side of the stage where Phobos stood directly across from him. The guitarist was facing in his direction, but with his entire face obscured by his helmet, Meouch couldn’t tell what sort of expression he was wearing, or if he was looking at him at all. Phobos is, and has always been in the most literal sense, a mystery.  
  
So the answer, as it turns out, is actually not simple at all. In fact, Phobos was very complicated, this being one of the reasons why he frustrated Meouch so much. The man contrasted his personality in every way possible. But Phobos wasn't just the reason he was here. Phobos was the reason he was _still_ here. And that in turn, posed to him the simplest of questions with an answer he has yet to figure out: why?  
  
Meouch looked away and adjusted his hands on the fretboard. He starts to stare off into the distance again.

✧

✧

✧

  
Phobos liked to practice alone. Usually on an elevated surface located far away from any signs of natural life. Not because he was shy or anything (why would he be, with godly guitar skills such as his), but because that was just how Phobos was. He found solace in solitude, something Meouch actually shared in common with him for once.  
  
So to happen upon the chance to be graced with the majesty of Guitar Solo outside of concerts was an undeniably rare and valuable thing. Phobos’ playing was a holy sight to behold. It was pure, divine music upon your ears, every note reaching the very depths of your soul. Meouch would go as far as describing it as a religious experience and he wishes he was exaggerating. For the truth is, Meouch had been enthralled by Phobos’ artistry with music ever since the day he first heard him play, maybe even more so than his fellow bandmates.  
  
It wasn’t long before Meouch suddenly wondered what it would be like to hold those small blue hands in his. Similarly calloused, yet somehow so delicate looking. They didn't look as rough as Meouch's were, recklessly bruised throughout the years. Phobos would take good care of his hands, even if they did shred lightning- or rather, because. Then it wasn’t long before his mind started wondering about everything else, like how the skin of his neck felt or how his lips would taste, mindless thoughts turning into longer fantasies.

✧

✧

✧

  
Love, despite Meouch’s expertise in making it, isn’t something he truly has an understanding of. Its definition across the galaxy rather varied, he’s discovered. He had always just settled himself on women and sex, because that was all Meouch needed, and beyond that would admittedly be greedy.  
  
And Phobos makes him feel unreasonably greedy.  
  
There's something about him that makes Meouch _want_ , but for what exactly, he doesn't know.

✧

✧

✧

  
Meouch wakes up to the warmth of someone else against him.  
  
His eyes open reluctantly to see only one blonde girl on his bed, which he finds odd. He swore there was supposed to be an additional brunette at least at some point in his hazy memory, but his mind is still barely there to question it. He stretched lazily as the recollection of last night's events came back to him.  
  
“Morning,” a soft, feminine voice greeted.  
  
He groaned weakly in response, hugging a pillow to his chest. The blonde, a fine martian lady whose name escapes him seemed to already be dressed. At least the top of her was, anyway.  
  
She sat up, “She already left, the other girl.”  
  
“What about you?” He asks.  
  
“Don’t really need to be anywhere today. Thought I’d hang around for a bit longer.”  
  
“It’s chill,” Meouch casually assured her, settling back into the sheets. She sat still on the edge of the bed, combing her fingers through her long golden hair gathered to one side.  
  
Meouch closed his eyes, feeling more than ready for sleep to drag him back into the sweet state of unconsciousness when he hears, “Hey, can I ask you something? I’m just curious.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
“About 'Phobos'. She that cute?”  
  
Meouch’s eyes shot open at the mention of the name. The girl had a teasing smile on her face.  
  
He looked flatly at her for a moment, quickly recalling the details of last night and the various ways his subconscious had betrayed him. Then nonchalantly, “Yeah. Pretty cute.”  
  
Meouch tossed himself to face the other side and closed his eyes again.  
  
“Hopeless? Taken?” She asked.  
  
“First one.”  
  
“Long hair?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Blonde?”  
  
“Gold.”  
  
“Red eyes?”  
  
“Alright- yes, you kinda look like them,” he lifted his head from his pillow and turned around to give her a glare.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” she laughed playfully. Then the look on her face softened, the gaze in her eyes somewhat forlorn. “Someone important, huh?"  
  
Meouch didn’t know how to respond, so he just lets silence speak in his stead. She was an odd one, this one. But she was nice, even if she was interrogating him about who it was he saw behind closed eyelids.  
  
Someone important.  
  
“I really enjoyed last night,” she got up from the bed, finally, “thanks, Commander.”  
  
She walked over to give him a peck on the cheek. And then just like that she left, leaving Meouch alone with thoughts that would torment him till noon.

✧

✧

✧

Feelings, Meouch had already long decided, are fucking bullshit. At this point in space and time, Meouch is fully aware that yes, he wants nothing more but to hold Phobos in his arms under the stars and tell him how beautiful he is and that he loves him more than anything else in the entire goddamn galaxy.  
  
The feelings seemed to worsen everyday, like something was eating him up inside and very slowly destroying his system. Mostly through the alcohol.  
  
"OKAY. SO YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH PHOBOS. WHY HAVEN'T YOU TOLD HIM YET?" Havve said, voice monotone. He had been listening to Meouch ramble poetic nonsense about how pretty Phobos’ eyes were while he took shots for the past 15 minutes. He was getting bored and slightly annoyed at this point.  
  
The pint of beer in front of Havve was left untouched, Meouch knew the cyborg did not drink- or consume, or even require any sustenance for that matter, but he felt the need to be courteous and bought him a drink anyway. It was the thought that counts.  
  
"I can't, Havve. This kind of thing's hopeless y'know?" The lion sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night, pressing a palm against the temple of his forehead.  
  
"INCORRECT. THERE IS A 50.222223 PERCENT CHANCE THAT YOUR CONFESSION OF LOVE WILL HAVE A DESIRED OUTCOME," came the cyborg’s flat reply.  
  
Meouch stared emptily into the glimmering gold of whiskey in his glass, swiveling it around, "I don't deserve him."  
  
Meouch only said it because it was true. It was pathetic, almost, that things had turned against him like this. He was convinced that this was just his punishment. That to long for a man who would never see you in the same way, whose everything you had taken away from once, is how the universe set him up to pay for his sins. And that was fair. Because right now, the tight pain he felt in chest felt like the worst possible thing he could ever endure.  
  
Havve slides his glass towards Meouch.  
  
"THEN I HOPE YOU ENJOY SLEEPING WITH WOMEN WHO LOOK LIKE HIM AND DRINKING AWAY YOUR SORROWS EVERY NIGHT."  
  
Meouch scowled. As much as he hated consulting with Havve, his absolute logic was the only foil to his emotional reasoning. He’s about to call the bartender over for another refill, thinking Havve had left him at that and the rest of the night’s fate was doomed to end in a couple more drinks and an impromptu bar fight with unfortunate strangers who he’d unleash his pent up frustrations onto, but then Havve speaks again.  
  
"IF YOU DO NOT TELL HIM, I WILL TELL SUNG ABOUT THIS.  
  
Meouch slammed a fist onto the counter violently. Havve didn’t move an inch.  
  
"Havve, what the hell man!" he yelled angrily, giving Havve a look of utter betrayal, one that meant _I thought we had an agreement_. That was specifically the first thing Meouch made him promise he wouldn’t do.  
  
"I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOU SUFFER LIKE THIS, MEOUCH," Havve says. His voice remained the same robotic quality, but the lights in his eyes dimmed a little.  
  
Meouch is silenced then, the anger in his face quickly subsiding. The rare times Havve expressed compassion always catches him off guard.  
  
He thinks about what Sung would have to say about this. Probably, " _You have to face your problems head on, Meouch._ " or " _You can't keep running away from your feelings._ "  
  
Meouch winced. He downs another glass.  
  
“Alright, fine,” he groaned in defeat, “Just don’t tell Sung. I have enough problems to deal with already.”  
  
Havve nodded.  
  
Meouch manages to waste himself on three bottles worth of Jim Beam that night.


	2. Chapter 2

Phobos was never blessed with the bliss of wanderlust. For as long as his planet orbited around the sun, his only real desire was to be at peace with where he was. To have a place in the stars, to stay, to _belong_. When Phobos realized that he already had something he called home however, it was too late. Now, he is just as he was before, wishing that he belonged somewhere.

Does he belong _here_? Playing the electric guitar next to the man who destroyed his home planet alongside two other people with similarly unfortunate backgrounds at a local bar on a 2 am Tuesday?

For now, it seemed that he did, and the reason why wasn’t any less complicated than the question.

And Phobos was one to reason. His whole understanding of the universe was built upon theories and beliefs, things that he was often told did not go together throughout his career as a self-proclaimed philosophical rocketeer (nonetheless, he decided to transcend words to argue his philosophy through methods of music). Being the man so concerned with metaphysics such as he, Phobos always thought about the reasons why.

To this day, Phobos is still thinking about why a lion named Meouch is the reason he's here.

Phobos’ hand slides down the fretboard of his guitar, his fingers coming to a stop.

The music ceased, replaced by silence, then by applause, and Phobos could feel his consciousness slowly coming back down to earth. He was glad that his helmet concealed the fact that his mercurial mind sometimes wasn’t very present during songs. He turns to look over across the stage past Sung, where Meouch stood on the far left. The two seemed to be saying something to each other, though Phobos couldn't quite make out what it was. Then Meouch looks his way, making eye contact with Phobos, though the bassist wouldn't be aware of it. Phobos wonders how long Meouch would keep looking at him, so he holds his gaze.

After a few moments, Meouch looked away finally. This leaves Phobos with a strange empty feeling, though he doesn’t understand why. 

Meouch always made him question a lot of things, always making him ask _why_.

✧

✧

✧

Meouch is an insufferable show-off, a fact that is somehow tolerated by everyone in the band.

The lion was infamous for seizing any given chance to show off his beastly skills as a bassist, and the somewhat suggestive nature of his sound coupled with his mangy looks and devilish charm only fed the fire to his popularity and ego.

But as much as Phobos hates to admit it, it was justified to some degree. Because Phobos could travel a million light years and not find a single bass player in the galaxy who could even compare to Meouch’s command over his instrument. Phobos knew that Meouch truly loved to play. His notes had soul, Phobos could _understand_ his music. This alone, back then, was enough for Phobos, enough to overlook even his sins and decide that the man couldn't be evil at heart. 

The alien always took advantage of the visor that hid his eyes to watch the bassist play unbeknownst to him. Other times it was against his will, because no matter how hard Phobos tried, all four of his eyes would always come back to Meouch and his bass. The way his fingers danced around the strings was almost bewitching. Before long, Phobos started to wonder what those large hands would feel like in his. Similarly calloused, but much more rough looking. You could tell his hands were trained, hardened through years of practice, the faint scars hiding his untold hardships of a space pirate.

For a brief moment, Phobos wondered what they would feel like against other places of his body.

Phobos scolds himself in his head, his cheeks immediately turning red. He quickly puts his helmet on and runs, taking off into the sky with his jetpack and leaving those thoughts on the surface.

✧

✧

✧ 

The subject of love had always been out of Phobos' field. Love was one of the more complex concepts of the universe, perhaps too advanced for the young lord to comprehend.

The choice not to pursue it was simply out of disinterest at first. Now, Phobos felt like a fool for thinking so naively, to think that love was something to be readily approached out of your own will. Love, he has now discovered, apparently jumps at you without warning like a lion would its helpless prey.

Phobos has been desperately trying to make sense of his unnatural physical symptoms and intrusive thoughts, but it has come to a point where his reasoning for his quickened heartbeat whenever Meouch looked at him started to sound like pure sophistry.

✧

✧

✧

The ship was oddly quiet tonight.

Havve was in his room charging, and the only groove crusader he saw that was up and about in the living room was Sung. Phobos walked up to him silently and gave him a light tap on the shoulder.

“Whoa!” Sung jumped, clutching his pylon to his chest as he spun around. He let out a sigh of relief when he realized who it was, “Phobos. What is it, bud?”

 **Do you know where Meouch is?** Phobos signed.

“Oh, he must be out. Y’know, Thursday night.” His leader smiled helplessly with a shrug.

Phobos nodded in understanding. _Poker night_.

“You're not heading to bed?” Sung asked.

**In a moment.**

Phobos didn't feel like calling it a day, but he also didn't feel like sticking around the ship at these hours to awkwardly witness a lion coming back with 3 drunk girls.

“Ah. Well, don’t stay up too late, yeah? Good night."

Phobos smiled. Sung pat him on the back and made his way out of the room.

Now left all alone, Phobos decided to bask in his solitude out in Earth’s cool open air. He walks outside to the balcony.

The night was quiet, but the faint sounds of Earth’s creatures and critters singing in the background made him feel less alone. 

He leans against the wrought-iron railings, looking up to gaze at the shining lunula that hung in the star-lit sky, the soft wind caressing his long golden hair. The calming presence of the moon reminded him of home.

Phobos sighed. It was awfully quiet without Meouch.

There was a name to the feeling Phobos felt at the moment. It was _yearning_. Phobos only realized that he missed Meouch’s presence when he was gone on nights like these. And it was on nights like these, that his mind was plagued with thoughts about him.

Phobos was never too concerned with Meouch’s choice of a casanova lifestyle. Unlike love, lust was no nietzsche. It was easy to understand. 

But eventually, the nights without him grew lonelier, and the thought of him with someone else started to make his chest hurt for reasons he couldn't quite understand.

He wonders what it was like to seek such vice for yourself. He wonders what it would be like if he too, allowed himself to act upon desire. Sometimes, he wondered what it would be like to be one of the women Meouch pleasured in his bed. And he wondered, what it would be like to wake up next to him in the morning.

✧

✧

✧

Phobos at this point in space and time, has stopped asking himself _why_ he felt these complex emotions and allowed himself to simply just be. He needed, desperately, to free these thoughts out of the prison of his mind lest he went insane, in which then the band will be forced to get rid of their dysfunctional guitarist by abandoning him on an unknown planet somewhere in M82, leaving him there for the rest of his life until he dies from either hunger or natural selection.

“Hey, uh. You okay there, Phobs?” Sung asked, concerned. Phobos had been holding his teacup in his hands for the past 5 minutes, staring silently into the glistening gold of jasmine water instead of drinking it.

Phobos set his teacup down on the table shakily then took a deep breath.

 **I think I'm in love with Meouch,** he signed.

Sung stared at him for a few seconds. Then let out a simple, " _Oh_."

Whatever it was that Sung expected him to say, Phobos could tell it maybe wasn't that. He gave Sung a distressed look, then started to throw his hands in the air.

**My heart is calescent just by the mere thought of him, Sung, there's an inexplicable sensation in my chest whenever he looks at me, my heartbeats are rendered in disorder whenever he talks to me, my hands shake and I forget my chords whenever he speaks my name in a song, he makes me feel all these things and I just can’t understand why.**

Sung didn't blink once through all that, trying his best to keep up with his friend’s frantically moving hands. Sung sit still, sipping his tea and nodding slowly as he processed Phobos' movements, translating them in his head.

**The feelings attenuate with each passing day and I fear that I will no longer know peace if I continue on like this, despite the efforts I have made to regain myself, I lose my focus and I worry that it not only destroys me but affects my performance in the band as well. I don’t know what to do about this. I think I love him, Sung, I think I’m in love with him and I... I just...**

Phobos folded his arms on the table, burying his face into them.

 **I can't**.

His hands signed above his head.

Sung couldn't help but smile a little. It was a peculiar yet endearing sight. His words and diction were still that of a regal lord but his emotions were truly that of a lovestruck teenager.

"Well, then I guess you should just tell him how you feel." Sung finally said calmly, as if it was the most obvious of solutions.

Phobos lifted his head back up immediately, the look on his face replaced with that of a horrified one.

**Tell him? I can't!**

Sung could tell what he was saying even without looking at his hands. 

"Why not?" The cyclops asked, tilting his head. Phobos frowned. Sung seemed to be taking this very lightly for some reason. 

**No, it’s… He won’t…** Phobos’ hands paused mid-air, trembling, **It’s just impossible, Sung.**

Sung furrowed his eyebrow, “And how do you know that?”

Phobos didn’t like the inevitable direction this conversation was going. He stares into his own reflection in the cup’s water.

**I don’t. That’s why I’m afraid.**

Silence took over the room for a moment, the atmosphere turning somewhat sombre. Then Sung put his teacup aside, reaching his arm out across the table to take Phobos’ hand in his. He smiled.

“It’s okay. You’ll be fine,” was all that he said.

Phobos manages to finish his cup of tea that afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will phobos and meouch get their feelings across? find out next time on Groove Crusaders


	3. Chapter 3

Meouch finds himself in red space. He's lost in his own thoughts, Phobos, again, intruding them.

Meouch can't seem to remember a time when Phobos made sense to him, or when anything at all made sense to him. All he remembers was the anger he felt. He remembers the pain of every resentful strike from Phobos' blade. He remembers trapping his bloody claws around his blue neck as he stared down at his pretty face, reflecting the rage in his ruby red eyes. All he remembers is his body being controlled by anger, but like anything else that wasn’t alcohol, he simply grew bored of the way it ran through his veins.

Some things have remained the same since then. Meouch still kept getting himself almost-killed everyday. But it's different now. Now he _wants_ red on his hands. Now he sees red in his music, in his dreams, everywhere _red_ , _red_ , _red_. At this point it's obsessive. Destructive. It doesn't make sense.

The red sky started to dim, slowly fading into a softer pink.

**_Aren't you tired?_ **A faint voice asks him. It wasn’t even entirely a voice, just the ghost of one; a vague sound thinly layered over words.

Meouch was _exhausted_ , the world was a head-splitting blur. He somewhat recalls taking one too many shots before he came here. _The fact that you're here right now means I'm_ **_very_ ** _tired,_ he thinks.

The owner of the curious voice tilted his head very slightly as he gathered all of his long golden hair to the side. Like his voice, his figure was a faded moon, threatening to disappear if Meouch dared to blink.

**_Aren't you tired of all this?_** He asked again, just a little softer. His lips remained pressed together tightly as his voice echoed.

Meouch understood what he meant this time. _Yes_ , he thinks.

**_Then don't you want to end it?_ **

"If we end it, then what's left?" Meouch voiced this one out loud.

**_Nothing,_** Phobos replied.

Meouch is silent.

_Nothing_ is what should've existed between them in the first place.

✧

✧

✧

Meouch wakes up the next morning feeling like there’s a void in his chest.

✧

✧

✧

Meouch came back wasted on a Thursday night, teetering between states of consciousness.

He was perfectly narcotized, though he overestimated how undamaged his digestive system was. Maybe he overdid it a little bit. Sung nagged at him at the door, but by now he was too used to it to give a damn. He wasn’t in the right mind to really care about how he got here, or why his right glove was missing, or why Phobos was carrying him on his shoulder and placing him down gently on his bed.

Meouch suddenly felt sick in the stomach, and he knew it wasn't the intoxication. He recognized this pattern, he knew what was going to happen. Everything in his body was begging against it.

Meouch feels the warmth of Phobos' touch leave his skin, and without thinking he quickly reaches back for it.

“Don't go,” he gripped his hand tightly, “please.”

At this point he’s on the verge of passing out and was unaware of how he said it, or _what_ he said exactly, but he didn't care if it sounded like a desperate plea- it _was_. At the very least he was relieved that Phobos was real. He felt real, at least.

Meouch felt himself drift away. 

✧

✧

✧

Meouch wakes up the next morning with a splitting headache. There was a pillow on the floor for some reason.

✧

✧

✧

Meouch comes back to the same pink wasteland, empty and starless. Meouch doesn’t remember how he got here. Maybe it was beer- or was it champagne? Everything was still a little too hazy. Despite being alone, there was a strange sense of comfort to this place, but only because he knew who was here.

**_You keep coming back_** , a familiar voice echoed.

He turns around to see Phobos standing against the rose colored backdrop, all aglow. It was a pretty sight. Phobos is. Though the image of Phobos without his helmet or his jet-pack and guitar strapped to him was always a strange one. He looked unguarded, exposed. Like he was being laid bare. It urged Meouch to want to do the same.

“Well,” Meouch says, “maybe you’re the one who keeps bothering me.”

Phobos shrugged, a coy smile tugging at his lips, **_You let me._ **

Meouch smiled back. This was definitely champagne Phobos.

He wonders what the blonde had to say this time, but Phobos, much like he usually does, abandoned his words. Instead he extended a hand out to the lion, which Meouch tentatively accepted before getting pulled closer in a warm embrace. Meouch doesn’t know why. But he just lets it be.

They stay like that, silent, in each other's arms. The only thing he could hear was Phobos' breathing and the faint beating of his heart against him. Meouch listened to it in reverent silence. He lets himself get lost in it, until it slowly grows muted and the world gradually faded once more into a pitch black.

✧

✧

✧

Meouch wakes up the next morning, relieved that the pretty blonde from last night had not yet left his arms. He selfishly hopes that she doesn’t turn around.

✧

✧

✧

Meouch sits in a cold room, seated before millions of stars upon a violet tinted surface.

The familiar 80's jazz track blaring softly in the background helps him realize he’s currently piloting his ship, orbiting the nearest planet at 17,000 miles an hour in an unfamiliar system. He can't seem to recall why exactly.

Instinctively, he reaches a hand out to tap the screen in front of him to see that the course of his ship was set to a nearby dwarf-sized planet. It wasn't a familiar planet, and nothing about it seemed particularly interesting, not even the faintest detection of funk. Meouch decided to look for a different point, mapping out the system on the screen when suddenly he sees a bright light shine from the corner of his eye. 

Out of nothing, a supergiant emerges like a flame, burning a mysterious pink-blue. Something about it’s gleam was entrancing. Meouch stops to gaze- but it disappears.

Suddenly, everything disappears.

The light of all the stars before him started to flicker out one by one until Meouch is finally left alone with nothing but the glaring emptiness of space, the violet through the window dissipating into a pitch dark black.

The room darkened. A terrible feeling began to sink in.

Meouch turns the radio box on the counter off and decides to listen for signals. He waits anxiously, for a wave, the faintest of sounds, _anything_ \- but is only found with the deafening absence of noise.

Suddenly, Meouch finds that he can't move. He strains to breathe but his chest is weighted, heavy. _Everything is so heavy._

He's already dropped to the ground, paw desperately trying to hold up his chest. He feels something cold and terrible spread through his bones.

✧

✧

✧

Meouch wakes up.


	4. Chapter 4

Phobos strikes another match alight, holding it carefully to the wick of his last candle.

He places it gently atop the stand among the others then returns to kneel on the floor, watching the flames with child-like intent as it burns a hypnotizing orange-red.

Phobos closes his eyes and exhales, flames dancing erratically upon his sigh.

This obsession with candles was recent, born from surviving an apocalypse. Ever since then he held nightly rituals of remembrance in honor of the lives lost from the calamity, one flame for every stolen life. And though Phobos was understood to be a spiritual person, there were many who voiced their concerns over his tendencies of borderline pyromania.

Because of course, it was more than that. Phobos found something else in fire.

Fire is destructive, fire is merciless. But like this, fire is soothing. To be able to keep chaos under control put Phobos’ mind at ease, it brought him peace. The comforting warmth helped during nights that grow somnolent, nights such as this, when he struggles to arrange his disarrayed thoughts about the lion who brought fire into his life.

Phobos remembers exactly when things stopped making sense between them. They had reached a point where everything lost meaning. He remembers finally feeling numb to the pain. Then he remembers an impaled shoulder and blood that should've been his. A fortunate accident, he told himself. And like Phobos, Meouch said nothing of it.

But Meouch did it again. 

He did it again, and again, and again almost as if he were _trying_ to get himself killed.

 _Stop_ , Phobos wishes he could scream at him, _if you were to die, it’ll be in_ **_my_ ** _hands._

Only here, Meouch could actually hear him.

“Then kill me,” he says.

The flames of the candles flickered and disappeared with the hush of the wind.

The darkness reveals Meouch standing before him, unarmed and vulnerable. Phobos realizes he has his sword in his hands. Like every other night, Phobos couldn't move. He merely stood there in place, claimed by silence.

"Kill me," Meouch says again, louder, stepping closer.

Phobos' hands tremble.

 **_No._ ** Phobos doesn't say, **_It's all wrong. You're not supposed to look at me like that_ ** **.**

But the look in the lion's eyes only grows sadder.

Phobos feels something burn in his chest.

Like fire, emotion consumes.

✧

✧

✧

Phobos wakes up the next morning, thankful he remembers how to breathe.

✧

✧

✧

Phobos knew it was a ‘Thursday’ night. For him to do what he did was far beyond reason. Again, he has no answer for it.

He doesn’t know why he came downstairs at 2 a.m., or why he let Sung ask for his help, or why he’s now carrying Meouch on his shoulder and placing him down gently on his bed.

Maybe it’s because he knew the commander hated being seen like this. Vulnerable. Helpless. Here he was, lying in a drunken stupor in front of Phobos. Seeing him like this made Phobos doubt if Meouch's nightly rituals were any better than his.

He brings himself to believe he’s satisfied and gets up to leave, only to be suddenly pulled back by the hand.

“Don’t go,” a quiet voice said to him. “Please.”

Phobos’ heart drops. He wonders if it was real, or if he had lost his mind this terribly to insanity. Drunk or not, Meouch says a lot of things. Though never to him.

The lion’s grip gradually loosens, and his hand slips away from his. Phobos wishes he had caught it, instead he clenches his empty fists. 

He opens his mouth to say nothing.

How he longs to drown his throat in quicksilver just for a breath of Meouch's name, ever so mercurial on his tongue. He’s nothing but a voiceless statue, aching in silence. But Phobos' heart wasn't made of stone. If it were, it wouldn't hurt this much.

Despite everything, he decides to stay.

✧

✧

✧

Phobos wakes up the next morning, his body aching all over.

✧

✧

✧

Phobos finds himself in a tranquil blue wasteland, empty and starless. He can’t seem to recall what brought him here. Perhaps it was the scent of lilac- or vanilla? Everything was still a little too hazy. The place was quiet and desolate, which Phobos didn't mind, he was used to solitude. But this place was different. He knew why.

“There you are,” a familiar gravelly voice greets him.

Phobos turns around to see Meouch standing there, illuminated under the cool blue light. It was a pretty sight. Meouch is. It’s always odd to see him without a cigarette or a beer bottle to his mouth, but it was a good look for him. It looked honest.

This place suited Meouch. It was calming, serene, like the glimpses of the sea Phobos catches in the lion's eyes sometimes.

“Geez, I thought you’d never come back.”

**_I thought you didn’t want me to._ **

“What are you talking about? I’ve been waiting for you.”

 _Oh_. It's the Meouch that says the things Phobos wanted to hear. The one with the impossibly kind look in his eyes. He gives Phobos a raised eyebrow and a playful smile.

“Come here,” Meouch beckoned. 

Phobos complied. He takes a step closer and is then grabbed by the hand and instantly pulled into a tight hug. Meouch laughs heartily; Phobos could feel it rumble against his chest, he smiles. Meouch smells like mexican cocoa, that must’ve been the candle he lit up last night. He wraps his arms around the lion and lets go of the tension of his body slowly, resting his weight against Meouch as the lion begins to purr deeply against him.

Why were things so easy here?

Phobos closes his eyes. 

He's starting to think he doesn't need an answer. He just wishes he could stay a little longer with the Meouch he wishes fate had allowed him to know first.

✧

✧

✧

Phobos wakes up the next morning craving someone else's warmth.

✧

✧

✧

Heat, is what Phobos’ body first recognizes. Then dread. Then terror. He realizes that the air is suffocating. He feels a heat creep up behind him.

 _Run_. _You have to run._

Everything erupted in one blink. The brightness was blinding.

He closes his eyes and runs. He doesn't know what horizon he's desperately hurrying towards, he doesn’t realize his lungs were starting to collapse, all he knows is to keep running.

_Keep running. Don't stop._

The howling blazes, the mortifying screams, the incessant ringing in his ears, all of it was coming together in a nauseating chorus at the back of his head.

But then Phobos stops running- he falls.

He tries to get up fast, but it’s never fast enough. First it claims his legs, then he feels it travel upwards to his stomach; it's like the sun is eating him alive. It quickly spreads through all of his body until the fire has consumed him entirely.

Inside, the voices were so loud, their overlapping cries rang so clearly.

 **_This is what you deserve._ ** The angry fire screams. **_You shouldn’t be alive._ **

It burns. 

He can’t breathe.

✧

✧

✧

Phobos wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm no writer so i apologize for the cringefest and the really short chapters!! T__T i just want to share my love for this ship and write my thoughts about their complicated relationship ♡ i promise the next chapter is the last one where it all comes together and isn't sad. also i'm so sorry for abandoning this at one point ,, i didn't know people actually read and liked this ;__; thank you sm for the kudos and likes!! im gonna cry ;__;♡♡♡


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